I’ve been meaning to write a blog post for a while, but life has been getting in the way until now. Today I want to share a photo of my Christmas present from my daughter and her husband. The sellers of my new house had collected antique typewriters, and inspired by some of the photos, they bought me the Smith Corona typewriter shown on the shelf here.

I’m not much of a collector in general, but I am entertained by the idea of collecting a few old typewriters. Whether or not I follow through on the impulse is another matter. For now, I’ve been enjoying the sight of this one and some of the memories it has brought to the surface.

You see, I wrote my very first novel on a Smith Corona – not a model exactly like this one, because mine was an electric portable typewriter, but the color is very similar and when I put my fingers over the keys they feel the same. My body remembers that first typewriter I owned.

I was nineteen, and I’d been reading voraciously my whole life. When I was around twelve, I started reading romances, inspired by a family visit to my aunt and uncle’s house. They lived in deep country, so there wasn’t really much for a child to do except play outside (which I did) and read (which I did insatiably). The only fiction they had were Zane Grey westerns and romances – Harlequin romances, stories by Barbara Cartland, Emily Loring, Georgette Heyer, etc. I gobbled up both the westerns and the romances. When we went home, I didn’t pursue reading westerns, but I did keep reading romances.

Eventually, as I grew older, I started saying to myself, “I think I could do this. I really think I could write a book.” Then when I was around 16, I read an article in People magazine about successful romance authors. That article was responsible for turning me serious. The authors came from all walks of life. Janet Daily had been a secretary. This budding dream of mine was actually possible, I thought.

My teenage years were hit with a lot of challenges. My mother died from cancer, and I ended up in a young marriage, and then I ended a young mother, myself. My husband at the time and I were both college students, and we were struggling financially. Desperate to do anything to change my circumstances, I bought my little portable electric Smith Corona typewriter, took copious notes and created an outline, and wrote a book late at night while everyone else was asleep. I was short on sleep and strung out on coffee for months.

When I was finished, and I had edited the story, I sent to Harlequin Mills & Boon in Canada. And I waited, and waited. Finally after several months went by, I wrote them to follow up.

And I heard back from them. They had found promise in the story and had sent it on to the London office. An editor contacted me and requested changes, which I completed with feverish excitement… and my first book was sold, and published in 1981 (A Deeper Dimension).

For several years, I didn’t know any details about how I had gotten lucky – I only knew that I had. It was much later than I found out that, at that time, they received something like 10,000 unsolicited manuscripts a year, and they only accepted 4 to 6 new authors a year. I was one of the lucky ones, and for several years I was their youngest author.

I enjoy looking at this typewriter and remembering writing those early stories, and I hope you enjoy this story of how it all started.

~ Thea

]]>I should be packing…http://theaharrison.com/i-should-be-packing/
http://theaharrison.com/i-should-be-packing/#commentsTue, 12 Dec 2017 02:36:48 +0000http://theaharrison.com/?p=3175If it feels like my house move has been going on for ages, that’s because it has. I started looking for a place a few months ago. Then there was the loan application and the closing process. All of you who have been through this process before, you know just how much fun I was having.

And now I’m officially into Move Week.

My two dogs and cat – Charlie, Phoebe, and Sweetie – left today. I said goodbye to them while they were in the back of the pet transportation van. The pet transport folks, a team of two, were very kind. The gentleman was older. Usually his wife is the second half of his team, but she had to stay at home because of an ailing mother, so he had a younger partner with him for the trip.

The older gentleman gave me a hug. Some people are not huggy people, but I am so I loved it. I kinda needed a hug today.

And the pets… all three were hooting and hollering. I looked at them with love and thought, yeah, this is why I don’t drive you guys across the country. Thanks to the pet transportation folks, they’ll be safe and treated well, and they will stay at a friend’s house until I reach the other side, and in the meantime I am now free to deal with what I need to do.

It was a relief when the van drove away, but much of the brightness in the day left with them. There aren’t any funny, affectionate companions hanging out by my feet while I type this. The SoCal house is quiet, and even though my stuff is all still here, a lot of it is in boxes and the place doesn’t feel lived in any longer.

The moving company shows up tomorrow, and I am not ready for them. I should be packing. Instead, I decided to write this.

I’m getting a house for Christmas, and I’m thrilled. Pretty thrilled. Theoretically thrilled. It’s all my choice, and I’m totally fine with having made it.

But moving during December feels weird. On the one hand, it’s great! Because of off-season pricing, I saved a lot on my moving company. But on the other hand, it’s a lonely business. I won’t be able to decorate for the holidays, or do any of the other things that many other folks are doing. Still, it will be worth it for the rewards, and that means I will doubly appreciate my Christmas tree next year.

Right now, since all my books are packed, I’m in search of great stories to load onto my kindle, because once again, books are going to get me through this transition in my life.

Stories are amazing, fundamental. They’re as necessary to me as food and drink, and perhaps they’re just as important to you too.

So before I shut down my internet for the last time in SoCal and disappear on my journey, I’m hoping you might help me out by posting either what you’re reading, or what you’re really looking forward to reading. I’ve got to grab some new stories and then get back to packing.

I’ll share photos of the house when I reach the other side!

]]>http://theaharrison.com/i-should-be-packing/feed/12Excerpt from Elizabeth Hunter’s “The Storm”http://theaharrison.com/excerpt-from-elizabeth-hunters-the-storm/
Sun, 10 Dec 2017 18:52:11 +0000http://theaharrison.com/?p=3172I have one more excerpt to share from AMID THE WINTER SNOW before it releases on Tuesday, December 12th. This delightful excerpt is from “The Storm,” by Elizabeth Hunter.

“How old is this place?”

“The house?” Renata walked away from the window and sat in a wooden rocking chair by the hearth. “I don’t know. It was here when I was born, so at least three hundred years, but it’s been rebuilt over the years. Things were added on here and there. There are eight bedrooms upstairs, so you’re welcome to prepare one for yourself if you like. Mine and the living room are the warmest though, so if I were you, I’d continue sleeping down here.”

He’d be sleeping in her bedroom, but that discussion could wait. “This was your family’s home?”

She shook her head, but she still wasn’t looking at him. “It didn’t belong to us. Not exactly. I’m sure the council has forgotten about it at this point. I’ve made sure the name on the deed is mine. They can’t take it now.” She turned. “I’m sure you’re thinking they wouldn’t be interested in a house this remote, but it’s not the house they’d want. It’s the caves.”

Max sat up and leaned against the sofa. “I wondered if there were caves when I saw how the house was built.”

“The caves are the only reason this house—this whole compound—ever existed. I don’t know how old they are, but my mother told me they were created by very powerful earth singers centuries ago.”

“Why?”

“To store the scrolls.”

Understanding dawned. “This was a library.”

Renata stood and grabbed wood for the fire, placing it on the glowing embers along with some kindling. “This was a library. A unique library. Ciasa Fatima was one of the few combined libraries in the world.”

Max didn’t say anything. For the first time since he’d known her, Renata was willingly sharing her past. It was as if she’d opened a jewel box and handed him rubies. He didn’t want to say anything that might make her clam up.

]]>Excerpt from Jeffe Kennedy’s “The Snows of Windroven”http://theaharrison.com/excerpt-from-jeffe-kennedys-the-snows-of-windroven/
Fri, 08 Dec 2017 19:49:25 +0000http://theaharrison.com/?p=3169Today I want to share a charming excerpt from Jeffe Kennedy’s “The Snows of Windroven” from the December 12th release of AMID THE WINTER SNOW.

“You could have danced with me,” Ami said, needling me, knowing exactly how to do it. “Then I wouldn’t have had to dance with anyone else.”

I didn’t bother pointing out that a man at arms didn’t dance with the Queen of Avonlidgh. Or that I couldn’t stay alert and protect her if we danced. Or that I’d never learned how. In Ami’s world, everyone learned to dance like they learned to walk. She forever forgot that we came from different worlds, whereas my burning shame forever reminded me of that unassailable fact.

I wouldn’t let her see that embarrassment, however. Better for her to think me uninterested in dancing than for her to glimpse the rough and desperate boy inside.

“Talk to me, Ash,” Ami commanded, all hint of flirtation vanished. “You know I hate it when you go all stoic White Monk on me.”

I swallowed a terse retort to that, searching for a diplomatic reply. “Wintering at Windroven is a romantic idea, but romance won’t last long if the volcano blows.” I cleared my throat of the choking fear of losing her in such a way. I lived with that fear daily, knowing full well I had no business thinking of her as mine in the first place. I’d lose her eventually—today, next month, or next year—but sooner rather than later. Making myself confront the eventuality of our parting had become a kind of daily, disciplined exercise for me. Like sword practice. I forced myself to exercise the muscles of loss, to contemplate that pain. I could survive it, I thought, as long as she was alive and happy.

Jahna envied her that particular talent and wished she might be able to employ the same as she tried for a second time to reach the main doors. She wanted to race outside, kick up snow drifts and laugh with joy under the winter moon. Her euphoria over Dame Stalt’s offer wasn’t dimmed by yet another interruption, this one even more welcomed than the dame’s had been.

“You remind me of a lantern whose flame burns bright, my lady. Your eyes are dancing, though you are not.” Sir Velus raised a questioning eyebrow, his own eyes green as the coveted sea glass brought over the mountains by the intrepid trade caravans and sold as jewelry to rich noblewomen.

Jahna grinned, still riding on a swell of elation. “I don’t dance because I’m never asked, Sir Velus.” She hurried to qualify her statement in case he thought her remark a clumsy attempt at garnering an invitation from him. “And I value my feet. Too many drunk lords fancying themselves butterflies on the dance floor when they’re really oxen.” His low laughter joined hers, and she thought his as delightful as his speech. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

He’d been scrutinized, measured and admired the moment he walked through the doors. A person would have to be without eyes or blindfolded not to see it. That he hadn’t been swallowed up by the spinning, swaying crowd, a partner on his arm, puzzled Jahna.

Wry humor played across his mouth. “Because I’m not important enough or high enough in status to warrant the time. You’re young, but I suspect you know how this works. This is a dance only on the surface. Underneath is a battlefield and those who strategize best are the envy of even the most successful generals.”

She blinked. He had just neatly summed up why she disliked this particular festival dance. Its air of calculation, of desperate purpose, stripped the joy from it. People used the event as an excuse to maneuver for position in court and negotiate marriages and trade alignments. Her father waded into the thick of it, never dancing but flitting from one cluster of nobles to the next as he bargained and gleaned information that would expand his influence.

“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t participate, but from here, it feels like I’m watching a battle instead of a dance sometimes. I like the courtyard dances much more, especially the Maiden Flower Dance. Have you seen it?”

Her companion nodded. “I have. The villages closest to Ilinfan come together to celebrate Delyalda. The Maiden Flower Dance and the Firehound story are always the favorites.”

“I love the Firehound story!” Jahna blushed, mortified by her enthusiastic outburst. She sounded more like an overly excited seven-year-old than the dignified young woman her father so desperately wanted her to be.

Sir Velus grinned, the expression one of appreciation instead of mockery. “Mine too. One of the older swordmasters possesses a touch of sorcery and can create the Hound from flame, though to be honest there’s been years where it looks more like a rabbit or piglet.” He winked at her. “Keep that between us.”

A bubble of laughter escaped her, and she captured it by covering her mouth with her hand. She had met this man only hours earlier, knew almost nothing about him other than his profession and his purpose in being here, but oh, she liked him very much. There was about him a steady confidence, as if he was very sure of his place in the world, with no need to prove his worth to anyone. He’d shown her great kindness, even before he knew she was his employer’s daughter.

]]>Amid the Winter Snow: a Holiday Anthology is now available for pre-orderhttp://theaharrison.com/amid-the-winter-snow-is-available-for-pre-order/
Mon, 04 Dec 2017 23:38:17 +0000http://theaharrison.com/?p=3158

Grace Draven, Elizabeth Hunter, Jeffe Kennedy, and I are very excited that AMID THE WINTER SNOW is now available for pre-order! The pre-order sale price is $4.99, for a limited time only. The full price of the anthology will be $5.99 after release on December 12, 2017. The anthology is available for pre-order at the following retailers:

As the snows fall and hearths burn, four stories of Midwinter beginnings prove that love can fight its way through the chillest night…

THE DARKEST MIDNIGHT, by Grace Draven
The mark Jahna Ulfrida was born with has made her a target of the cruel and idle all her life. During the long, crowded festivities of Deyalda, there’s nowhere to escape. Until a handsome stranger promises to teach her to save herself…

THE CHOSEN, by Thea Harrison
In her visions, Lily sees two men fighting for her tiny country’s allegiance: the wolf and the tiger, each deadly, each cunning. One will bring Ys chaos and death, one a gentler path—but she’s destined to love whichever she chooses. The midwinter Masque is upon them, and the wolf is at her door…

THE STORM, by Elizabeth Hunter
When her soul mate died in a massacre of the half-angelic Irin people, Renata thought she’d never feel happiness again. She’s retreated to the snowy Dolomites to remember her hurts—until determined, irrepressible Maxim arrives to insist on joy, too. And before she can throw him out, they discover a secret the Irin have to know…

THE SNOWS OF WINDROVEN, by Jeffe Kennedy
As a blizzard threatens their mountain keep, the new Queen Amelia of the Twelve Kingdoms and her unofficial consort Ash face their own storm. Ash knows a scarred, jumpy ex-convict isn’t the companion his queen needs. But when a surprise attack confines them together in their isolated sanctuary, the feast of midwinter might tempt even Ash into childlike hope…

]]>Ruminations at the end of 2017http://theaharrison.com/ruminations-at-the-end-of-2017/
http://theaharrison.com/ruminations-at-the-end-of-2017/#commentsMon, 04 Dec 2017 02:04:03 +0000http://theaharrison.com/?p=3156I have this blog that I almost never post on, so I’ve decided it’s time to start using it again.

Recently I’ve been thinking about milestones and such, and as I’ve been looking back over the last eight years, I realized I’m coming to the end of an era and starting a new phase in my life.

I wrote DRAGON BOUND just after finishing grad school while I was looking for a job. The economy had tanked, and my degree was in Library Information Science – which was not a good degree to shop around with during the Great Recession.

One evening, as I had dinner with family, they asked, “Do you think you’ll ever write another book again?”

“Oh, sure,” I said with a shrug. “I always wanted to one day.”

Then I realized “one day” was here, so I got to work. And I got a three-book contract offer from Berkley. Berkley wanted to release the books in such quick succession, I realized I couldn’t write them while working another job. They offered me a tremendous opportunity but also a difficult one. I couldn’t accept it without help.

So my family (the ones who had asked if I would ever write another book again) offered to take me in until I got my writing career off the ground. The joy and gratitude I felt for their generosity was overwhelming. I said yes.

That was the beginning of an era.

In the last eight years, I will have moved seven times. Yes, that’s right, seven, and each move has been necessary for one reason or another.

During that time I’ve written twenty-four stories – books, novellas, and a few short stories.

In the course of writing, I’ve hit the USA TODAY bestseller list seven times, the NYT three times, and I’ve won some awards. I paid off my student loans, and I’ve paid off 2/3 of my daughter’s student loans. It’s been a very, very rewarding, scary, exciting, and incredibly dynamic time.

I also received a diagnosis for Sjogren’s disease, and I’m tired.

Okay, fine, you say. You’ve had a lot going on. But why is this the end of an era?

Thanks for asking. I’ll tell you.

Next week I’m supposed to close on a cute mid-century house back in the town where I did a graduate assistantship in Indiana. I’ll be blunt – if I didn’t have Sjogren’s, I would have stayed in Colorado to be near family, but unfortunately my autoimmune disease and the dry altitude in Denver are not suited for each other. So while I have been hanging out and writing by the beach in Southern California, I’ve been laying plans for what my new life is going to look like.

And in some ways, it looks like my new life is coming full circle, back to the place where it all began. There’s a kind of symmetry to it that is pleasing to me, like I’m closing one door to open a new one.

I’ll still be writing in the new place. I’ll be creating stories. December’s going to be chaotic, but then things will settle down. And I can’t help but wonder how those new stories will be.

Because of a deluge of unexpected roadblocks with the purchase of my new house, I won’t be finishing Planet Dragos the way I had hoped, so I’ll have to write the story on the other end of the move. After that, I’ll be writing LIONHEART, which is book three of the Moonshadow trilogy. The order of what I’ll be writing hasn’t changed. The timeline just has to be moved back a month or so.

And after that? I might want to write a space opera. What if I want to write a fantasy? I really liked the world building I did when I wrote The Chosen (to be published in AMID THE WINTER SNOW on December 12th with Grace Draven, Elizabeth Hunter, and Jeffe Kennedy). Maybe I’ll write more in that corner of the Elder Races universe.

Maybe I will want to write about Death, and about Life, and maybe I have some stories I want to tell about a dragon boy who needs to find his way in the world, and I always want to build hope, HEAs (happy every afters) and HFNs (happy for now endings) into every one. The possibilities are fabulous and endless, and I’m excited for what 2018 will bring.

But first I need to complete my eight-year circle and get through this next house move, and then hopefully I will be able to set aside my nomadic lifestyle for a good long time. I’ll be taking a break from writing until January, and after that?

I can’t wait to see what this new era brings.

]]>http://theaharrison.com/ruminations-at-the-end-of-2017/feed/1Teaser excerpt from The Chosenhttp://theaharrison.com/teaser-excerpt-from-the-chosen-2/
http://theaharrison.com/teaser-excerpt-from-the-chosen-2/#commentsTue, 31 Oct 2017 02:06:55 +0000http://theaharrison.com/?p=3142Earlier today, I published a newsletter that was supposed to have a link to this excerpt in it, but apparently that link was broken. Huge apologies!

As Lily stepped through great iron-bound doors and onto the slippery dock outside, the wind tugged at a lock of her hair. She breathed in deeply. The air was cold and damp, and the briny scent of the sea filled her nostrils.

Margot and the rest of the group followed her, instinctively clustering together for warmth.

Inside Camaeline Abbey, a rotation of priestesses kept a constant web of protections cast over the people who had taken shelter within, as well as the entire island. Camael was the goddess of the hearth, and the abbey was full of brightness, warmth, companionship, and comfort.

Inside, the magic seemed little more than a nuisance.

Beyond the abbey walls was a different story. Here in the open, the atmosphere felt edgier, more perilous, as if imbued with malice.

Margot paused by her elbow, glancing at the sky.

Damned weather magic, Margot said telepathically. The caster has a hell of a range. It feels diffuse, lacking a central direction. I can’t get a clear read on where it’s originating from; can you?

Over the past six months, she and Margot had developed the habit of carrying on telepathic conversations. As long as they stood within twenty or so feet of each other, they could share insights and compare opinions in complete privacy, which was a useful trait, especially when they were around other people.

, Lily spoke slowly, feeling her way through the problem. I would need to travel some distance to be sure, but I think it’s likely several weather mages are working together. If they’re scattered across the countryside, we wouldn’t be able to track the magic back to a single source.

Several weather mages working to cast banned magic? Margot’s jaw tightened. Sometimes I hate it when you make sense.

Lily gave her a rueful smile. You only hate it when you don’t like my conclusions.

True enough. Margot made a face. Who do you think is behind it—Guerlan or Braugne?

Tension pinched the back of Lily’s neck, threatening to turn into a stress headache. I truly have no idea. It could be coming from either one—or perhaps even another kingdom is behind it.

Margot gave her a brief, grim glance. Curtly she gestured to the group, and everyone settled into their assigned positions.

Shivering, Lily tucked the errant strand of hair behind her ear with a gloved hand as she stepped into place. Along with the rest, she turned her attention to the large, squat barge that had launched from the docks of the coastal town of Calles.

The barge’s blunt prow crunched through the thin sheets of ice floating on the shallow sea around the island of Camaeline Abbey. Winter solstice was still a week and a half away.

Usually it was a season of celebration, culminating in the Masque of the Gods. This year the weather had turned unseasonably bitter, fueled over the past month by the bouts of magic cast by the unknown mages, and nobody felt like celebrating anything.

Within the next moon, the water between the island and the mainland would be frozen solid for the first time in generations. According to reports, the harvest in all the six kingdoms of Ys had been sparse, and now the kingdoms faced lethal temperatures.

Lily thought of the small farmsteads dotting the countryside. If the weather mages weren’t stopped, many of those farms would lose much-needed livestock this winter. Probably family members as well.

There was a reason why weather magic was banned. According to international treaty, weather mages were supposed to cast only under royal decree to avert natural disaster.

With Braugne and Guerlan at the brink of war, the implications behind the current weather spells were frightening. Had the king of Guerlan broken treaties and brought a cursed winter to Ys, or had Braugne?

Happy Monday! Since most of you said on Facebook that you would enjoy reading snippets from The Chosen, here’s a not-quite-so-small excerpt. As usual whenever I post snippets, the following is subject to editing and revision.

—————————————-

In the nearest watchtower, members of the council, other priestesses, Abbey workers and townsfolk watched the impending confrontation through tall windows.

The stage for the meeting was set, and the audience assembled. If nothing else, this should make interesting theater.

Within a few moments, the barge had neared enough Lily could make out the features of various soldiers. They stood at parade rest.

The man at their head captured her attention.

The Wolf of Braugne was younger than she had expected. He stood with his broadsword drawn, the tip planted in the planks between his feet, both gauntleted hands wrapped around the hilt. His dark hair was windswept, his hard face weathered from the elements.

Stories of him had tumbled across the six kingdoms. Each one had grown more horrific with each retelling.

At first glance, he didn’t appear to live up to his legend. He didn’t have glowing red eyes, nor did he tower head and shoulders taller than his men. She was a little disappointed, to be honest. She’d been fascinated by the idea of the forked tongue, cloven hooves and tail.

But no, this was an entirely human-looking man. While he had the strong figure and erect carriage of an experienced soldier, he wasn’t exactly handsome either. In fact, he could blend into a crowd on market day, and she might brush past without ever giving him a second glance.

Then, as the barge drew close enough to dock, she looked at the Wolf’s dark, glittering gaze and thought, no.

She would never brush past this man without a second glance. His still figure housed an immensely forceful personality, as if a blazing meteor had been lightly cloaked in flesh. He was a Wolf in sheep’s clothing, a juggernaut wearing a mild expression as he paused to turn his attention to a tiny principality on his crusade for total domination of Ys.

Quick question for you: Is it too soon to start sharing snippets from the novella I’m writing for the December anthology AMID THE WINTER SNOW, with Grace Draven, Elizabeth Hunter and Jeffe Kennedy? Or do you think it’s best to wait until November? Just a reminder, the projected release for the anthology is December 12th, and we expect to have preorders up by mid-November. Some of you will have already seen the anthology cover art, but I’m including it here again for those who haven’t.

The title of my story is The Chosen. After some discussion, we picked a few characteristics that would pull the anthology together. We decided to focus on a high(er) fantasy setting, with a heat/sensuality level of around 3, and set around the time of a mid-winter festival. Because of that, the setting for The Chosen will be in an Other land in the Elder Races universe.

After the anthology has been on sale for 90 days or so, we’ll break it apart and publish our stories separately. I already cover art for it, although it’s probably a little too soon to do a cover reveal for that. Anyway, please leave a comment and let me know your thoughts.